I, Pendragon
by AncientDoom
Summary: While some destiny's are decided by the legacy of the past, other's are decided by the present times. Uther stands to be the latter as he rises to an age of war and prejudice.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: After doing some research on Uther, I found that what I plan to do with him will wind up being very non-canon. In canon, Uther conquered Camelot and became king. What I plan to do is completely non-canon. I want to make a new image of Uther. I don't plan to erase who he is later on, but rather create a reason for why he became what he was in strong detail. **

**So anyone who thinks they KNOW the lore of Uther Pendragon intimately, don't expect it. I'm rewriting him.**

**Also, anyone who reads my "In the Path of" series, will realize that I have the tendency to recycle and reuse names. It's because, while I am fine at plotlines, names are not my strong suit. So I tend to reuse them over and over.  
**

******Also, if anyone is interested in being a Beta Reader, my skype is "ancient_doom" Or PM me what your skype is.**

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**Episode 1 - Uther Pendragon**

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**-Everyone has a destiny, some minor, some major, some healing, some destructive. Many a time, one's destiny is decided by the legacy of those that came before them. Other times, one's destiny is decided by the times.-**

Uther, the prince of Camelot, would never claim to be the brightest star in the sky. He never pictured himself as being the most glorious, the richest, or even the smartest. No, there were other people who could fill that role, and he'd happily let them. Everyone had a role. This he knew from the day he was born. His role wasn't to be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. Not even the most handsome man, not that he didn't hope to be at least... attractive. Uther had a very different role before him.

As future king, his role was to lead the glorious, the rich, the smart, the fast, the strong, the... attractive -even though what practical value that had beyond wooing women, he would never figure out- and help them establish their own place and roles. The richest fit best in a place where their wealth could be given freely and trade could abound. The strongest fit in battle, protection, and training of upcoming soldiers. The fastest had their place, the smartest had a spot as advisors if at all possible, and the attractive... He would have to figure out where they belonged outside of some wives' bed. He was to lead them. He didn't need to be the most talented because he would be leading the talented. Leading was a different talent entirely, one that wasn't made of muscle, bone, and mind. It was made of the heart.

All of this he knew from the beginning. His father and mother were just and true. They loved everyone. Even the people who... Uther just couldn't quite come to terms with.

Freaks. But then he was too polite to say that. But it didn't change how odd they were. He guessed even they had their place.

"Freaks."

"Agravaine!" Uther gasped.

"What?" The other teenager raised an eyebrow. The two of them were stooped behind a barrel in the lower city. "You're thinking it too."

Uther didn't deny it, but he also didn't give his friend the privilege of having said it. "It's such a strong term, though!"

Agravaine snorted and returned his sight to the druids who were in the market place. They had clothes of grass with twigs in their hair and probably hadn't bathed in ages. "Then what would you call them?"

"Odd..." Uther relented. "Very odd."

Agravaine was a teenager about the same age as Uther. No one was exactly sure because Agravaine considered his exact age to be unimportant, only that he was 'about' seventeen. His parents were the same. 'And he thinks that isn't odd?' Uther wondered. His friend had perfect black hair, knew how to compose himself in a room of nobility with expertise befitting a king, and had a twinkle in his eye that was both the net of far too many girls and taunt of too many boys. Beyond that he had no skill with a blade at all, no real intelligence, was slow as a donkey -and just as stubborn as one- and was a bit too full of himself. He was the prime example of a 'attractive' person whom Uther just couldn't figure out where they belonged.

Maybe as a public speaker... That would be fitting.

Meanwhile Uther was the exact opposite. His hair was nigh untamable, he had fierce eyes filled with resolve toward any task he set his mind to, and while he too was not the most intelligent, he knew how to make up for it with constant work and study. His skill with the blade was born from days and nights sweating in laborious training, and his speed was half-way decent, at least. He knew how to ride a horse, probably the one thing he had over Agravaine as the pompous ass couldn't be bothered, and while he tried to compose himself and have a strong flow of speech worthy of nobility... he always found it fell short in vocabulary, but his father was teaching him to make up for it in true resolve behind his words. His father would say that a trumpet, while lacking words, speaks even more fluently than the best written speech.

"Come now, Uther. Surely you can come up with stronger words than that?" Agravaine teased. "Look at them. Clothes born of worms and maggots. Unbathed. If I held out a bar of soap, they would scream like girls and run for the hills!" They laughed.

"Druid repellant!" Uther laughed until tears came to his eyes.

Agravaine made a motion of putting out imaginary soap to Uther, and Uther squealed in pretend fright, and they laughed.

Until they were caught.

One of the druids turned around and looked Uther square in the eyes. They stopped laughing abruptly, looked at each other briefly, and ran with their tails between their legs. The guards watched them run by with barely contained amusement.

The druids were from a neighboring clan, allies to the King of Camelot, and this particular group was around for talk of some importance. The clan's leader was among them. For this was a different day of Camelot. It was a glorious age. Dragons filled the sky with their Dragon lords, druids and dryads filled the forests just as non-magical folk filled the towns and markets, and fairies and pixies and mermaids had their place in the oceans and lakes. The land burst with powerful relics of great power, great respect, and worship toward a power that brought fruit to those who wielded it.

As one particularly drunken man once said, "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting something magical, the cat coming back to life, and-" at that point no one cared. Who would want to swing a dead cat anyway?

The two teenagers finished their grand escape to the outside walls of Camelot, and looked to see if they were followed. With magical folk, you could never be sure. "I think we lost them." Agravaine smiled in exhaustion.

"We shouldn't have done that... that was rude of us. They were officials..." Uther reprimanded himself more than his friend.

Agravaine rolled his eyes. "If they are going to take insult from a joke, then they have serious issues. Now- OH! Look." He pointed to a servant boy having a particularly difficult time with a shield much too big for him and twice his weight. Agravaine's eyes gleamed again, and Uther couldn't help smiling mischievously as well. A smooth stone, the size of his palm 'magically' appeared in his hand.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Uther, my dear friend, if i didn't know better, I would say you were reading my mind." He juggled a stone in his hand.

So the bombardment began. The poor servant squealed in surprise against the rain of projectiles, dropped the shield just beside his poor toes, and screamed with his hands over his head as he tried to stay behind the shield that was unfortunately rolling of its own momentum. The rocks hit the shield just right that it started to spin, knocking the servant down, and causing the shield to smother him down into the grass.

No servants were harmed in the making of this prank.

Agravaine 'whooped' excitedly at their victory, and Uther laughed.

Until they were caught.

"Hey!"

They both stopped to notice the voice. A druid boy, the same one who had apparently noticed their snickering from earlier, had indeed followed them and tracked them down. The druid stood between them and the servant, who was having difficulty lifting the shield off, and glared at the two nobles. "What exactly do you two think you are doing?"

Uther and Agravaine looked at each other and burst out laughing even more. This... kid had the gall to stand with his hands on his hips and look down on them like they were children, when he was half their size! Agravaine was the first to be able to breathe again. "Kid, you must be new here, so while I have no say in this myself."

"You don't." Uther agreed.

"My dear, cherished, good, noble-"

"You're too kind."

"Friend here,"

"Being me."

"Will give you the benefit of the doubt as you clearly do not know who we are."

"Certainly."

"I'm glad you are so understanding of the young one's plight, dear Uther. It warms my heart."

"I am feeling quite charitable today."

"When are you not? Your generosity abounds!"

Uther shrugged. "I just don't know what to do with it all!"

The druid managed to heft the shield off the servant, and after thanks, helped him off. He turned around only to find the two 'nobles' still going back and forth mocking him. "HEY!" The druid yelled. "Pisspot!"

That shut them up real fast into a combination of shock and awe. The druid continued, "I don't give a witches boiled ASS who are you!" The noble's eyes expanded further. "But this is most uncomely of you, and I demand an apology toward myself, and him!" He pointed to the servant, who only paled and tried his best to be invisible.

Uther opened and closed his jaw repeatedly as he struggled to form words, or even a thought, in his astonishment at being spoken to in such a manner. "Pisspot?" He whispered. He looked to Agravaine, whose nod said, 'Yes, that is what he said'.

Uther nodded thoughtfully, turned casually to Agravaine, and asked, "Mace or sword?"

"I like the sword personally. You are deserving of the mace in this splendid occasion. Ten diameters, seven diameters, or six diameters and spikes?" Agravaine motioned to the maces lying on the ground nearby (they are in the training ground) as if he was a shopkeeper.

"I'll go with the six diameter. I feel like it's in season today."

"Good choice." Agravaine handed it to Uther and hefted the sword onto his own shoulder. "After you?"

"Ladies first."

"Oh please, pride before beauty!"

"Your too kind, but I simply must decline!"

Agravaine shifted the sword in his grip and smiled wickedly. "I know. But we must come to an accord! Shall we go for 'both'?"

"Both." Uther agreed with a nod.

The druid's patience turned to surprise and striking fear as the two nobles charged at him together. The chase reversed itself back into the capital city.

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"You cheated..." Uther growled. He and Agravaine struggled against the vines and branches that magically appeared out of nowhere to envelop them both. They were stuck tight, public spectacles being laughed at!

"Of course I did!" The druid boy sneered in fun. "How else would I win?"

Agravaine barked, "You're going to regre-"

"What's your name?" Uther interrupted. "Your skill is strong, worthy of attention."

"Varus Wynn, from the Clan of Wynn."

"I shall remember, Varus." Uther nodded respectfully.

The druid boy, seeing more than he expected in this calm resolution, nodded as well.

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"You cheated..." Varus seethed from the public shackles holding him in place. Rotten tomatoes rained down on him and the people laughed, even the druids found it humorous that he mistook a prince for a pompous ass! He was still an ass, but still! How was he supposed to know the Pendragons, with permission from his clan, would have him publically humiliated to learn not to tell an ass just what he was!

"Of course I did." Uther whispered and winked. "How else would I win? Name's Uther Pendragon, in case you're wondering. Oh, don't be like that! It will only be another two hours!" He patted the wooden shackles. "Ta-ta!"

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With the rebellious child in custody learning his lesson, Uther and Agravaine left to find something else to tend to for the coming hours. They were expected at dinner when their mutual parents were finished discussing matters, and the meetings between the Pendragons and Wynn druid clan, and the need to schedule a joint-kingdom tournament, AND then having to figure out just what to serve as dinner without insulting people when you're dealing with vegetarians and people-allergic-to-green-things all at the same table, before actually taking the time to cook it.

Suffice to say, it would be a while.

They put their heads together and concluded that they had no idea what to do. Uther loved hunting and training and riding, whereas Agravaine was more along the lines of writing poems, wooing girls, and -Uther suspected- staring at himself dreamily in a mirror. Truth be told, the only things they had in common was the boyish need for mischief and a similar sense of humor.

With nothing to do for the rest of the day besides mischief, which they had their fill of for the day, they decided to go their separate ways and reunite at dinner with the families.

Uther spent the rest of the day training and riding. An interesting thing he noted as he trained, was how some did so poorly that they hurt themselves, while others did not. Training his eye further, he noted the ones who hurt themselves were ill trained with a blade, did not have an eye for battle, and really were more suited to crafting or farming. In short, they were peasants. Not that it was too big a deal, the original noble lines were peasant families, but 'peasants' in this term referred to people who lacked the training and intellect to do something that would probably only end in them killing themselves.

It was one thing for knights to train, but he couldn't figure out why these commoners, who had not been born into the sword, could think to use it frivolously. It wasn't a game. Peasants could become soldiers, sure, but that was of a different caliber than knights.

Dapping the sweat off his bow, he presented himself before a small gathering of these peasants to the side. They instantly stood at attention at his approach. "You're holding it wrong." He chastised gently, ignoring their attempt to resemble nobility in showing him respect. It was pleasant for them to try, but they lacked the straight back, the broad shoulders, the resolute eye.

He gently took the sword out of one of their hands and showed them how to wield it. "Strong grip, here. Don't be afraid to have your fingers pinched by the grip." He showed them how to swing. "Precise swipes. Straight up and down, or side to side. Nothing advanced. The moves are baseline because of their simplicity, you can do them a thousand times repeatedly. Its not about thinking about it, but training your body to memorize it on its own."

He returned the blade to him, and instantly the small assembly showed improvement, at least in that regard. "Your stance is poor." He poked one with his finger and the man fell over. "You want a stance wide enough to take blows from the side without being knocked down." He showed them, and lowered himself slightly. "But also don't want rigged knees. You want to be slightly lowered so you can sway to adapt your balance."

He gave out a few more pointers, and they showed more improvement. Naturally, they would forget. They had other duties to attend to than train every day. But one of them showed more promise than all of them. Clearly he had been training a fairly long time. "You there." Uther pointed. "You have trained long?"

The young man, although much older than Uther, paled at the attention. "Yes, sire. Every day for a short while."

Uther nodded respectfully. "You show promise."

The man's face lit up brightly. "Thank you! Sire!" It was a greeting like any other. Uther had received thousands of them, but there was something about this man's eyes that drew him. The sheer determination was beyond any knight he had to train in as long as he could remember.

"What's your name?" Uther wondered.

"Jordan, son of Hanabris, my lord." He bowed his head humbly. "I ask not for your favor, but if I may, remember the name?"

Uther blinked. He half expected the man to ask for knight-hood, a flat out 'no', perhaps asking for money or a place in the castle service, but this surprised him. The man asked only that he remember him.

This. This was a man worth noting.

Uther nodded.

He returned to his training from his short break. There would be a tournament soon. He needed to be up to form. It was a special tournament. Anyone, from across all of Albion, would be admitted whether it be noble, peasant, magical, non-magical. Uther didn't claim that his noble blood made him naturally stronger, if anything the blood of magical people was naturally stronger, but the prospect of what he would encounter excited him.

A part of him hoped this Jordan fellow would participate. He would be a worthy challenge.

The coming night, a servant informed Uther he was expected by his family. He looked up at the descending sun and noted he had misjudged the time. With a firm nod and "Thank you", he sent the servant on his way. Uther wiped the sweat off, placed his sword on the rack to be sharpened, reclaimed his shirt, and made his way to the castle.

Camelot was in every way the pinnacle of the modern world. Its walls were high, its people happy and diverse and hardworking, and its justice system took into account the individuality of the cases with a set of judges that resided after the region. His father claimed it was to provide a stronger sense of law and justice, which it may have, but Uther suspected it was also so his father could wash his hands of it. He was far too... hesitant to end people's lives. The city also was the center of trade between all of Albion, what with it standing literally in the center of the region. It was originally built to stand directly in the center. That was it's iconized purpose.

And in the very center of Camelot was the castle. It's spires reached high and its bunkers and dungeons delved deep. It shined with polished stone that was enchanted to never collect dust, nor corrode, nor crumble. The castle all but glowed like a star.

And Camelot's armies. Naturally the system was feudal in nature, in that land owners, or nobles, recruited soldiers into their ranks from the land they owned with the promise to the king to bring their armies once called upon. The king did not recruit, per say, nor did the land have any centralized recruiting unit outside of the noble families. The king's personal army was comprised of royal guard, knights, and the infantry of the noble who held the farm land surrounding the capital. With knights being born and bred soldiers comprised of the sons of nobles, and royal guard being any soldier the king saw fitting to guard his presence and family.

To put it simply. Camelot's army ranged in tens of thousands. The largest in the land.

Uther made his way to the castle, entered his room, and swiftly changed his clothes. His manservant, an older man with a crippled leg and missing a part of his eye, Larry, had been in the castle his entire life. Uther could have gone for a servant of strength, but he saw no need for it. He could handle most things himself of his own accord, and he prized the life-long loyalty and aged wisdom of the man over his lack of strength. The man took his clothes, sat down on his chair, and set them in the basket to be taken by the maids in the hall. "Anything I should be made aware of today, Larry?" Uther asked.

Larry's remaining eye lit up brightly, but his lips were sealed. Uther could all but smell the 'surprise' and 'good news' radiating off of him. "If it's another surprise party the idiots are throwing in my supposed honor, I'm just going to tell them, straight up, mind you, that today is NOT my birthday! The first two times they got it wrong was amusing, now its just stupid."

"I assure you, sire." The old man said with mirth and a twinkle in his eye. "It is better than that."

That stopped Uther in his tracks, his hands holding his pants up. Uther raised an eyebrow curiously, but the old man showed nothing. He resumed finishing his dress. "Better than my birthday? This will be interesting, to be sure."

"Shall I have your armor ready for you tomorrow, sire?"

"No..." Uther glanced around. "Just my bed and setting things in order will do. You need your rest too, old man."

Uther closed the door behind him and made his way to the throne room. Finding it absent, he inquired with a patrolling soldier as to the location of his parents. The soldier, with a twinkle in his eye, informed him his parents would befound in the Hall of Feasting. With that, the soldier bowed and departed him. Uther watched him warily as he left and shook his head. Did everyone in the castle know what was going on but him?

Pendragon pushed open the doors, which hit the walls with a resounding bang, and entered in. The bang of the doors was louder than expected, alerting him to the silence. before him stood his father and mother, Agravaine and his sister... who's name surpassed him, and... the Wynn Elders along with Varus Wynn. Leaving barely a glance on Varus, he walked around to his seat, and surveyed the situation. The food was untouched by all, yet wine had been drunken. Perhaps as a special occasion or appetizer of some kind. Their eyes followed him closely and he felt himself the center of attention. Normally, his father would be talking matters out with those around him jovially, but while everyone was smiling, it was also with close attention on him.

Feeling self-conscious, Uther wrapped himself in the garb of inner nobility and sat down at this place beside father. The positioning of the chairs themselves struck him. Father sat at the far end, as he was supposed to, and Uther by him on his right side. His mother, though, was supposed to be on father's left side, but she was over mingling with Agravaine's own parents. Instead, the one to sit opposite of him was Agravaine's sister, while the father of her sat beside her as well. The girl was squeezed between two kings and looked slightly uncomfortable and self-aware and fidgety.

The druids sat at the other end of the table with Varus unfortunately right beside Agravaine and Uther. Or rather, perhaps providence, as Uther had half a mind to take advantage of the opportunity of the fool's proximity and fathom a way to make the druid boy regret it.

All thoughts of mischief departed as a paper was presented before him. No one still had yet to take a bite of the meal, except the druid boy. Varus nibbled on a vegetable while watching out of the corner of his eye.

Uther noted the changed expressions on a few of them. Agravaine looked like he was fuming inside, and his sister was pale as a ghost, and only paled further and lowered her head a slight inch as the paper was passed to him by his father, while Agravaine's father raised his head slightly in pride.

He raised an eyebrow and scanned the contents of the paper. The beginning several paragraphs were respectful, traditional rhetoric declaring his glory as prince of Camelot and his gallantry as a young man and other things he had read a million times over. At the bottom was a signature seal of both kings with clay stamped into the opposite corners bearing the mark of their ring imprints. Noting the beginning and ending, Uther figured whatever was on the paper was already done and this whole occasion was merely a pleasantry. His eyes moved over the middle and ending paragraphs and he froze.

_Here, the appointed guardians in passing signature, do agree and congregate to the union of Uther Pendragon and Ygraine de Bois in marriage._

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**_Well... that escalated quickly._**


	2. Hiatius notice

I am sorry I haven't updated in so long, but I am very very busy in RL.

I cannot promise picking this story up. I have not forgotten about this story, but my mind is simply not coming up with proper scenes or making things work out properly. I don't do half-assed crap, if I can't make a proper story up to my standards, I don't bother.

This story is also proving to be overly complicated for me to start properly. I have so many people throwing PM's at me with Uther's entire life-line.

A part of me wants to throw it all out the window and do whatever the hell I want.

But another part of me, the perfectionist, wants to use the information to make a story that is proper and accurate.

I am very slowly trying to get an idea of what to do, but I want to stress the "slow" part.

I haven't given up, but I refuse to come up with anything half-assed until I know what to do.


End file.
